So You Think You Can Duel
by Scribbler
Summary: [one shot] Anzu, Yuugi, Jounouchi and Honda argue about what to watch on TV.


**Disclaimer: **In no way, shape or form are these mine.

**A/N: **I was bored after filling in application forms and Cat Deeley's teeth were staring at me from the television. It's slightly mortifying that she and Lenny Henry are the only celebrities to come out of my neck of the woods.

**Continuity: **Post-Egyptian Arc.

**Feedback: **Yes please!

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**_So You Think You Can Duel_**

© Scribbler, February 2007.

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"I could do that." Anzu folded her arms.

Jounouchi waved her aside. "Do you mind? You're blocking my view."

"Did you see that? She completely fluffed that move!"

"No, I didn't see it. I didn't see it because your fat head is in the middle of the screen!"

"I wouldn't give her full marks for something like that. And now look – that jive is so sloppy! I've served less sloppy burgers. Did you see how sloppy that was?"

"Anzu!" Jounouchi gestured frantically, frustration robbing him of any grip on tact he might've held. "Move! I'm missing the bouncy boobies!"

Anzu's mouth snapped shut around her next tirade. In one smooth motion she turned, whacked him around the head and pivoted back to face the television. "Pervert."

Honda sniggered behind his hand. "Man, and I thought I was going to be bored tonight. I'm almost glad my date fell through."

Yuugi's chin was already in his hands. it had been there since the opening credits. His eyes were the only thing he raised in response. His blank stare didn't even waver, and eventually made Honda squirm.

"What did I say?"

"Now look at these two! Look at _that_!" Anzu fumed, attention still rooted on the screen. "That _pas de deux_ is in no way, shape or form decent. I wouldn't even bother turning up for rehearsal with moves like that. Go home! Don't give up the day job!"

"They can't hear you."

She turned again, but Jounouchi ducked.

"Ha! Missed me."

She punched him on the arm.

"Ow! What is your _problem_? It's not like you can understand half of what they're saying anyway."

"My _problem_ is that these people can't dance. It's a dancing competition, but I wouldn't put them in kiddie leagues. Their form is off, their style is flat, their _facial expressions_ look like they've all been constipated for three weeks, and as for their competency -"

"Anzu." Yuugi spoke quietly. There was no firmness to his voice, only a weary sort of resignation, but the effect on Anzu was immediate.

She looked at him. Then she looked back at the screen. Her mouth opened and shut, but rather than say anything she flopped backwards onto the couch with a sigh. The fire in her eyes didn't extinuish, but it did dim a little, like a glass bowl being placed over an open flame. "I was doing it again, wasn't I?"

Still wearily, Yuugi nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Sorry. I just get so … so _nggh_ about dancing."

"So nggh?" Jounouchi flinched with his arms in front of his face, only lowering them when the expected thump didn't come. "Be kind; rewind. What's 'nggh'?"

"It's … _nggh_." Anzu mimed something that looked like unblocking a plughole with an extremely small plunger. "There's no other word for it."

"Is it jealously?"

She blew a raspberry. "As if. I just get really angry when people get praise they don't deserve."

"It all looked pretty impressive to me."

"That's because you're an ignorant troglodyte."

"A what?"

"She said you're a dingbat," Honda put in. "Now can we please just watch this imported junk or switch to Chopper Shop?"

"I told you before; we're not watching Chopper Shop." Anzu rolled her eyes. "You invaded TV night. You have no remote rights."

"Well maybe Yuugi wants to watch Chopper Shop instead of badly chosen dub voices. How about it, Yuugi?"

Yuugi startled as if snapped from a daydream. "Huh?"

"I take that as a yes. I have a majority; we're watching Chopper Shop as soon as this is finished."

"What is it with you and watching motorcycles get taken apart ad put back together again?" Anzu demanded hotly.

"What is it with you and yelling at the onscreen dancers?"

"Because they think they can dance _and they can't_!"

Jounouchi raised his hands. "Hey, whoa people, TV night is for vegging out, not brawling. Respect the Sacred Rite of Vegging Out. Although Anzu, if you wanted to turn it into naked mud wrestling, I wouldn't complain. Or even naked dancing. That way I wouldn't have to scar my brain with naked muddy Honda and could concentrate properly on the bouncy boobies." He grinned roguishly, but it fell away in an instant. "Not the face! _Not the face_!"

"Pervert!" She continued to beat him with the couch cushion until he begged for mercy.

"You asked for it, man." Honda used the distraction to reach for the remote.

As if acting on some sixth sense, Anzu spun on her heel and launched the cushion. It was a good shot. Venus Williams would have been proud. It hit Honda squarely in the face and with such force that his head snapped backwards and he tumbled sideways off the sofa. When he landed on the floor he cried out something that couldn't be broadcast on primetime, and sat holding his elbow.

"My funny bone!"

"No remote rights. And as for you -"

Jounouchi flinched.

"- One more perverted comment and I'm putting you outside with the other strays. Are we clear?"

He nodded, ears still ringing from the pummelling they had taken. It didn't do to tick Anzu off; a lesson he relearned several times a day.

Anzu made as if to sit back down, but paused. Before anyone could say anything she flung out one foot in a high kick like a cancan girl, twisted it backwards into an arabesque and followed her pointed toes in a slow reverse pirouette that was a study in controlled muscle movement. From there she leaped onto the arm of the couch, using Jouncouhi's weight as a counterbalance, and jumped off again, back arched, heels scraping her own lower spine. It should have been awkward, but she alighted delicately. A flurry of tap-dancing steps followed, too fast to register. To finish she curled forward into a no-handed cartwheel and came up with her arms spread wide, fingers flourished and one hip jutting coquettishly.

She wasn't even breathing hard.

All three boys gaped at her, as she grabbed the remote and resumed her place on the sofa.

"_That_ is how you're supposed to do it."

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_**Fin.**_

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End file.
